


Like Real People Do

by enc0432



Series: Blood, Tears, and Gold [2]
Category: Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Angst, Fluff, Humor, Implied/Referenced Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Implied/Referenced Torture, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-12-17
Updated: 2015-06-26
Packaged: 2018-03-01 22:31:51
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 15
Words: 17,238
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2790065
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/enc0432/pseuds/enc0432
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>One-shots of Dorian and Mahanon because I can't seem to stop with these two. Part of the same universe as Wrong Side of Heaven but set during the game for the most part so not necessary to read that for these. Spoiler alert!</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Do You Trust Me?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mahanon gives Dorian an odd gift.

Mahanon was being annoyingly cryptic as he led Dorian downstairs. Skyhold had many hidden places he hadn’t bothered exploring. The library, meager as it was, was still big enough to hold his attention. Usually, until a certain deranged elf took his book away and made him follow him into the dank bowels of the castle for no particular reason. 

“You know Inquisitor if you’re intending to kill me and hide my body down here, you couldn’t have picked a better spot.” 

Mahanon snorted. “Was our kiss that bad or do you just assume I’m horribly ashamed of you?” 

Dorian ignored that fluttering feeling in his gut at the elf’s words. He was still pretending that Mahanon wasn’t all he thought about. Or that he was terrified of that very thing. They reached an aging door and Mahanon paused at the door handle, looking sideways at Dorian. 

“Do you trust me?” 

“If there is a rift behind that door I’m going to be very upset.” 

Mahanon groaned. “Just don’t complain about the mess.” 

He pushed it open, revealing another library. It hadn’t seen even basic maintenance in decades easily, covered in dust and cobwebs. A desk with a great volume open to its center took up the center of the room. There was also as many books as the library upstairs, if not more. Hesitant to muss his clothes but overwhelmingly curious, he stepped inside the neglected library. Moving past Mahanon he moved cautiously to the shelves, examining the bindings. Disturbingly enough there were skulls acting as bookends. It was a moment before he remembered the elf was watching him. He turned back to see Mahanon, grin all too knowing as he folded his arms. 

“What are you smiling about dear Inquisitor?” 

The elf shook his head, gesturing to the books. “Nothing Lethallin. What do you think?” 

“Oh what? This? It’s a incoherent mess that needs some serious work to resemble a proper library. Obviously.” 

“Obviously. It’s yours if you want it.” 

Dorian looked around the dilapidated room. He couldn’t decide if the library was a gift or Mahanon’s idea of a joke. Mahanon ran a hand through his hair. 

“I’d hate to see it all go to waste. It has to be someone’s project and I don’t really have the time or interest for it. I thought you might.” 

Dorian felt a lurch in his gut. He turned to look at Mahanon, the elf had the bad habit of reading him like a book, and he wondered if he knew. Knew how bored Dorian was, how lonely. How much he’d been drinking. The way Mahanon was looking at him, he got the distinct impression he did. He forced a smile, not wanting to talk about it. 

“I suppose I can come down here every once in a while. Perhaps if I can get some decent books to fill the shelves? Something not written by a monk.” 

Mahanon snorted. “Whatever we can find. There’s a another benefit to this place you know.” 

“Would it be that it’s away from prying eyes?” 

The elf stepped towards him, tangling his hands in the front of Dorian’s outfit before pulling him down. Dorian decided two days was far too long to go without kissing Mahanon. For such a lithe thing he was burning up, making fire pool in Dorian’s own belly. Mahanon broke the kiss first this time, Dorian resisting the urge to chase his lips. He wanted to make whatever this was last as long as it could. The side of Mahanon’s mouth quirked. _Little bastard looks smug._ The elf stepped away slowly. 

“I have to get back to my duties. Which should go beautifully now that I’m completely distracted.” 

Dorian chuckled. “What could possibly be distracting?” 

“I wonder.” 

The elf went to the door, throwing one last smile Dorian’s way before leaving. Dorian watched him go, shaking his head. Mahanon was going to be the death of him, he was sure of it. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don't know. Just like that creepy library in the bottom of Skyhold and I had some time. I do want to address Dorian's drinking in more depth later on. I'll add a rating and tags as I go.


	2. Sedated

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Was anyone else really, really bothered by the shards and the oculara? Cause I was. Particularly after I found out they were abandoned tranquil. Kinda angry with the mages for that one(they abandoned them when they rebelled). Anyways, as far as I can tell oculara is the plural, ocularam is one.

They were only in Redcliffe that day because Connor sent Mahanon a note asking him to check something out. It was a mundane, this shed on the docks, and he wasn’t really sure what required the Inquisition’s attention. Not until he saw Connor next to the shed, somehow even paler than normal. 

“Inquisitor. Thank you for coming personally. We found…well. You’ll have to see it yourself.” 

Mahanon raised his eyebrows. “If there’s a demon in there I’m going to be very upset.” 

Connor shook his head. “Not a demon Your Worship.” 

The red-headed man unlocked the door, hand trembling. Mahanon frowned as he stepped into the small shed. He saw a shelf full of skulls, and posts. Oculara. He hated the damned things. He had never been particularly fond of inanimate objects that whispered in your ear until you were ready to claw it out. It was disturbing, but not so much so that he understood why Connor was so upset. Then Connor stepped inside, face still grim. He handed Mahanon a note. 

“This was found with it. Venatori orders.” 

Mahanon read it hurriedly, needing to leave the shed. The second his eyes landed on the word _tranquil_ he almost backpedaled into Connor in his haste to get out of the shed. 

“I want the skulls burned. My forces, your forces, I don’t care. They deserve proper burials at least. Start destroying any oculara in the area.” 

Connor nodded and took off. Mahanon just turned around, intent on heading back to camp then straight back to Skyhold. He mounted Revas, the great beast’s steady presence grounding him. His hands shook as he grabbed the reigns, urging the hart forward. It wasn’t like he hadn’t known the oculara were sinister. But he hadn’t suspected this. He rode into camp and dismounted, ignoring the salutes in favor of looking for Dorian. He found Cassandra first. 

She must of sensed something was off for she grabbed his arm. 

“Inquisitor? What has happened?” 

He swallowed, shaking his head. “I’ll explain when we get to Skyhold. I want us gone within the hour.” 

She frowned but nodded. “As you wish.” 

“Where’s Dorian?” 

“Bathing I believe.” 

Mahanon touched her arm lightly in thanks and went to find the mage. He did, following the sound of the cursing. Normally, it would have been amusing to find his lover glaring at the river as if he blamed the water itself for not being warm. He might even have joined him. Now he just wanted to be gone. 

“Dorian.” 

The mage turned, smiling as he saw Mahanon. “Ah amatus you’re back. Would you care to…Whatever is the matter?” 

Mahanon ran a hand over the shorn part of his hair, feeling off-kilter. “The oculara. Connor found  out how they are made.” 

“How?” Dorian was already getting dressed again, pulling on his pants before closing the distance between them. 

“The Venatori have been using the skulls of the tranquil. Kidnapping the ones the mages abandoned.” 

Dorian’s eyes were downright stormy. “Vishante kaffas.” 

Mahanon was slightly relieved. A small, horrible part of him had thought Dorian might have known. He finished dressing. 

“What are we going to do now?” 

“Go back to Skyhold. I want the oculara destroyed. After that…We’ll see.” 

Dorian nodded and grabbed his staff. They returned to the camp together, Mahanon unconsciously watching Dorian out of the corner of his eye. 

~~

Dorian kept quiet as Mahanon addressed his inner circle and advisors. He was concerned about the elf. Mahanon hadn’t come to bed the night before, leaving Dorian alone. He’d found him in the morning, dark circles under his eyes as he ignored breakfast in favor of writing decrees. He had ordered the Inquisition to removed all oculara they found, burning the skulls. Now, they were discussing burying the temple in the Foribidden Oasis. Dorian was puzzled by just how virulent his reaction to the skulls had been. He felt for the unfortunate souls involved, but he didn’t have Mahanon’s qualms about the temple. There was a slightly manic look in his eyes that told him objecting might be ground for getting his head torn off though. One Vivienne, apparently, didn’t recognize or didn’t care about. 

“My dear I understand the destruction of the oculara but to destroy this temple when we have barely begun to dig up its secrets seems a foolish waste of knowledge.” 

Mahanon’s voice was a low growl, though his expression didn’t change. “First Enchanter these are my orders. Follow them or go back to Val Royeaux.” 

Vivienne’s face didn’t change either, but she inclined her head slightly. Cullen cleared his throat. 

“As you wish Inquisitor. Will that be all?” 

“For now. Everyone dismissed.” 

They dispersed and Dorian tried to catch Mahanon’s eye, wanting to take him aside and see if he was alright. The elf glanced at him and turned his head to speak to Josephine about where they stood with the ball. Dorian got the message even if he didn’t want to accept it. Mahanon didn’t want to speak. _Well enough._ They set out in two days on another excursion to the Dales to stabilize the area. They had time. 

Except Mahanon avoided him the rest of the day, and didn’t come to bed again that night. Dorian started to wonder if it was something he had done wrong. If Mahanon had changed his mind about him. They’d only been _together_ for a few weeks, he seemed likely to. Either way, he wanted to know. He could be angry at the elf after he confronted him. Dorian went looking for him, only to find he wasn’t in any of the usual places, and no one had seen him. He was forced to the tavern to seek out Cole. He found the boy placing peeled plums on the windowsill. _One thing at a time._  

“Oh Cole?” 

The boy turned, face hidden behind his hat. “Hello Dorian.” 

“Have you seen our dear Inquisitor? Or sensed him?” 

“The brightness is threatened by the dark. Dimming, dank, despair. It seeps into everything, tainting.” 

Dorian cleared his throat. “Ah…okay. But do you know where he is?” 

“He wanted to be in the sun. Cullen let him sit on his roof.” 

_Of course he did._ “Thank you.” 

“He’s wearing your shirt. He likes the smell.” 

That was…oddly reassuring. Dorian smiled a little to himself at the thought. Cole’s personality in a nutshell. He ducked out of the tavern and hurried to Cullen’s office. The Commander wasn’t inside, but there was a ladder. Dorian felt more than a bit naughty invading the man’s privacy, but he was determined. He made a mental note of talking to the man about the state of his chamber, there was a massive hole in the roof for pity’s sake, before climbing the second ladder to the roof. There Mahanon was, sleeping with a pile of paperwork in his lap. He’d passed out sitting up. And he was, indeed, wearing Doran’s shirt. 

Dorian cast a critical eye at the structural integrity of this particular rooftop before sitting next to him. Mahanon woke with a start, groaning when he saw Dorian. 

“Should have known you’d track me down.” 

“So you have been avoiding me. And here I was hoping you’d been kidnapped so I could attempt a daring rescue.” 

Mahanon rubbed his eye, side of his mouth quirking reluctantly. “You _have_ been reading Varric’s books, haven’t you?” 

“I may have skimmed one.” Dorian scratched at the inside of his wrist. “Why are you avoiding me?” 

“I’m a coward.” 

He was blunt at least. Dorian felt an unpleasant sinking in his gut. 

“I see.” 

Mahanon blinked at him and then started. He grabbed Dorian’s wrist, fingers warm and firm. 

“It’s not what you think.” 

His eyes were wide with urgency, voice begging Dorian to understand. Reassured, Dorian removed his hand and then wrapped his arm around Mahanon’s shoulders. 

“Then what is it amatus?” 

The elf lay his head Dorian’s shoulder, the weight of him pleasant against Dorian’s side. “I realized something. About my reaction to the oculara. I stand by my decision it’s just…” 

He sighed, hand toying with one of the metal pieces running down Dorian’s leg. Dorian waited. Mahanon bit his lip and then got on with it. 

“I’m terrified it’ll happen to you. That you’ll be turned tranquil and I won’t be able to do anything about it. I worry for the others as well but…well. Not as deeply.” 

Affection for the elf surged in Dorian’s chest. He squeezed Mahanon’s shoulders, taking his hand as well. 

“You worry far too much for us. I don’t know if you’ve noticed but I am quite talented at defending myself. Walls of fire are excellent protection against those who wish me harm if I do say so myself.” 

Mahanon snorted. “Yeah well, I like worrying about you.” 

Dorian played with his fingers, earning more of a smile. “Well if you are going to drive yourself mad, I’d be more concerned with a great bear eating me, or getting stomped on by a giant, or Corypheus winning. Those are far more probable at this point.” 

“That is far from reassuring.” 

Dorian kissed his forehead, right on the tattoos. “I am just being realistic.” 

“Mythal preserve me.” Mahanon groaned. “Speaking of which, we need to talk about you taking odds against me.” 

“If you insist. For the moment though I am more interested in finding out what your Commander will do if he finds us naked up here.” 

“No. You can undress and remain if you wish. I’m hungry.” 

Dorian feigned a pout as Mahanon got to his feet, holding out his hand. He took it anyways, gathering the papers before they fluttered off the roof. Mahanon smiled at him, his edges softening for the moment. Dorian would take it. 


	3. Arsonist's Lullabye

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mahanon is an angsty drunk. Also there's fire.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This takes place the day before the confrontation with Mother Giselle in my mind.

_Brave_. That’s what Mahanon had called him. The man who had stood between them and a darkspawn magister and his pet dragon, without hesitation, thought _he_ was brave. Dorian was both baffled and pleased. The brandy wasn’t helping. The noise of the tavern buzzed pleasantly around him, the Chargers in the corner laughing and singing. Varric and the Champion had a table to themselves, though everyone was well aware she was in the room. Dorian was on his own tonight, being ignored or outright avoided. One of the reasons he generally avoided the tavern. 

He was drunk enough not to notice right away when the music and chatter of the place stopped. At least, not until light fingers brushed his elbow, an easy smile coming into view. The Inquisitor sat down across from him, setting a bottle of whiskey and a cup down in front of him. _Maker he’s beautiful._ The noise finally resumed, though Dorian’s focus was entirely on the elf as he poured himself a drink. 

“Care for some company?” 

Dorian smiled. “It would be my pleasure Inquisitor.” 

“Mahanon.” 

That, made the warmth in his stomach worse. “Mahanon then. What are we drinking to?” 

The elf raised his cup. “To bad memories.” 

“That…is an odd toast.” Dorian tapped his cup to Mahanon’s. “To bad memories then.” 

Mahanon drank deeply, his adam’s apple bobbing as he swallowed. It was…distracting. 

“What brings you down here with the riffraff?” 

“You’re here. Do I need more of a reason?” 

Dorian was grateful for the flush of the alcohol. It was silly. It wasn’t like he was new to this game. But the way Mahanon looked at him, wolf eyes hungry even after knowing about his family, it made it difficult to stare at him directly. He was the light, Dorian was the moth, and tonight he would happily burn. But then, Mahanon pulled out a wrinkled letter, setting it on the table. 

“You’re not the only one with…family troubles.” 

“Ah.” 

He was only marginally disappointed. The elf needed a friend tonight. He could do that. Return the favor. He reached for the letter and Mahanon grabbed his wrist in his vice in a lightning-quick motion. 

“Not here.” 

Mahanon released his wrist, and damned if Dorian didn’t miss his touch. The elf got to his feet, grabbing the bottle of whiskey. Dorian paused, saw the whole room not-so-subtly pretending they weren’t staring at them, and smiled broadly as he followed. It would bother him in the morning, but for the moment he wanted them to think what they would. Let it torture them to see their precious Inquisitor leaving alone with the evil Vint. 

The elf tipped the bottle back as they walked. Dorian didn’t take note of where they were going, more concerned with watching Mahanon. His normal, easy-going demeanor was cracking, revealing something darker beneath the surface. The intensity that put him in the center of things, made him so much bigger than the rest of them. He didn’t think to protest as they stumbled into the small chapel. It was empty of people, though the candles were lit. 

“I’ll be honest with you _Mahanon_ , this is not where I was expecting you to take me.” 

“Where were you expecting me to take you?” 

Dorian chuckled and took the bottle from the elf, letting the innuendo slide. “Someplace where I don’t feel as if I’m being judged for thinking these candles are doing remarkable things for your skin.” 

That got a smile out of Mahanon, though it was tight. He turned back to the statue, stretching out his arms. He seemed…angry. 

“This is her. The woman I’m supposed to champion. The woman who gave me this blasted mark. Fenedhis.” 

“Would you prefer she be an elven goddess?” 

Mahanon growled, turning back to Dorian and taking the bottle back. How it was half-empty, Dorian wasn’t sure. 

“I’d have preferred if they had left me alone. You think I wanted this? For a bunch of shems to uplift me?” 

He spat out the word shems, teeth chewing it up. Dorian tilted his head as he watched the elf drink again. He realized he had no clue as to how Mahanon felt about all of them. He went out of his way to help everybody, whatever their race. He hadn’t let Dorian being what he was stop him from helping him. But he’d never said how he actually felt about all of this either. Mahanon sighed, shaking his head. 

“Abelas. Ignore me.” 

“Impossible.”

Mahanon looked at him sideways before pulling out the letter again. “My old lover wrote to inform me what a betrayal to our clan and race I am.” 

Dorian didn’t have the words for that. He took the letter, but he had no urge to read it. How anyone could think so low of Mahanon was beyond him. Even made him angry. 

“She is a fool. What you do you do for us all.” 

“He.” Mahanon sat down on the steps beneath Andraste’s stone feet. “Sulahn. It means to sing. He used to sing like a bird.” 

Dorian had never seen the elf so bitter. He sat down next to him, taking another swig from the bottle. 

“Mahanon…why did you leave your clan?” 

The elf snorted. “Oh the usual reasons. Broken heart and false accusations of murder.” 

“Why did they think you did it?” 

“I told them I did.” 

Dorian laughed, suddenly very aware of Mahanon’s body heat. “Well that was stupid of you.” 

The elf barked out a laugh. “Yes. It was.” 

Apparently that was as much as he was willing to say on the subject. They fell into silence. Then Mahanon pulled the letter away from Dorian, putting it to one of the candles. A decision Dorian heartily approved of. He wanted to kiss away the look on the elf’s face, let him know anyone who thought he was less than worthy of the world was dead wrong. His head was swimming though, and inaction was much safer. Mahanon reached over again and grabbed his arm tightly once there was a pile of ash at his feet. 

“Is it just me or is the world a lot more spinny than it should be?” 

Dorian scoffed. “‘Spinny’ is not a word. Also yes.” 

They were leaning on each other rather heavily. The chapel was cold, and Dorian welcomed the elf’s warmth. He was about to say so when the door slammed open, Cullen and Mother Giselle entering. Mahanon smiled, not noticing the crinkle of the mother’s eyes as she looked at Dorian.

“Commander!” 

“Inquisitor. Dorian. Mother Giselle thought she smelled smoke.” 

Mahanon released Dorian, getting to his feet a little haphazardly. “My fault Cullen. I was making an offering to Andraste. Dorian was making sure I didn’t burn down the place.” 

The elf turned and offered his hand to Dorian. He glanced at Mother Giselle and then took it. It was rough and warm, Mahanon’s arm strong as he pulled Dorian to his feet. Mahanon grabbed the bottle, now down to a quarter, and inclined his head to an amused looking Cullen. 

“Are we still on for our game tomorrow Commander?” 

“As long as you’re not…indisposed Inquisitor. Good evening.” 

Mahanon was still holding onto Dorian as he pulled them out of the chapel. He was laughing when the door shut, bracing one hand on Dorian’s shoulder to steady himself. 

“We should do that more often.”

“Burn things in front of Andraste’s holy gaze? What will your followers think?” 

Mahanon gave him a toothy smile. “That I like playing with fire Dorian.” 

That stopped Dorian short. Mahanon squeezed his shoulder, rather evilly, and stepped away. 

“I think I should go to bed now before I make a worse ass out of myself. Good night Dorian.” 

“Good night Mahanon.” 

Dorian watched the Inquisitor go before retreating to his own quarters. He was decided. Friendship or no, he wanted more with Mahanon. Much, much more. Sleep first though. 


	4. Feastday!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> No idea where this is on my timeline. Anyways Merry Christmas and if you don't celebrate Christmas, Happy Feastday. Enjoy the fluff.

Dorian was not waiting for Mahanon to return. He really wasn’t. He had just had the sudden urge to get bundled up in a fur-trimmed cloak and stand in the courtyard. The snow that had fallen the night before and this morning would slow the Inquisitor and his party.  _They’re not late because something happened. Get ahold of yourself_. He shivered again, rubbing his hands together. The sky was still rather bleak, the castle’s stone walls stark against the white snow. It was all rather dreary. More so without the elf. Dorian sighed, finally making up his mind to go back inside when the horn announcing incomers sounded. The gates opened, Mahanon on his red hart riding inside, looking the picture of health. The others were there, but Dorian only had eyes for the elf. Mahanon spotted him, grinning as he slid of his mount. 

Dorian was going for a dignified greeting as the elf strode towards him. He should have known better as he was suddenly tackled into the snow, frozen lips pressing to his own. There was clapping from behind them and Dorian made a rude gesture with one hand, wrapping his other arm around Mahanon. The elf broke the kiss, laughing warmly into Dorian’s neck. 

“I missed you emma vhenan.” 

“Really? I couldn’t tell what with you attacking me. Savage beast.” 

He kissed Mahanon again. Crunching from behind them told him they weren’t alone anymore. He had almost forgotten. There was a polite clearing of a throat as Cullen came into view. 

“I hate to interrupt but…” 

Mahanon actually growled. “Commander.” 

“Right. Uh sorry Inquisitor. I’ll be in the war room with the other advisors when you’re ready.” 

The elf’s green eyes turned on Dorian as Cullen retreated to safety. Dorian chuckled, reaching up to cup his face. 

“The grace with which you handled that is quite admirable amatus.” 

“Do be quiet Dorian. I’m trying to kiss you.” 

He chuckled. “Oh is that what we w-”

Mahanon shut him up, lips now warm against Dorian’s. 

~~

Mahanon woke early to find his windows whited out. The fire had died in the night, and he almost groaned out loud at the thought of getting out of bed. But rain or snow, Cassandra expected him in the training yard. Evidently he had been injured by one too many swords as of late. He glanced at Droian, who was dead asleep. Affection surged in his chest and he smiled. He lifted the blanket off and felt a hand wrap around his wrist. 

“No.” 

“Go back to sleep. I’ll be back for breakfast.” 

Dorian didn’t loosen his grip. Mahanon tried to free himself gently, to no avail. 

“I’m not explaining to Cassandra why I missed a training session. Not even for you.” 

“You’re not going.” 

The mage still hadn’t lifted his head, face buried in the pillow. It was amusing and exasperating. He really didn’t relish the thought of getting out of bed. He felt a strong tug on his arm, giving only a token resistance before letting Dorian pull him to his chest. The mage wrapped around him, burying his face in the back of Mahanon’s neck. His breathing slowed again and Mahanon knew he’d already fallen back asleep. Mahanon relished Dorian’s warmth, the way he felt safe in the Vint’s arms. It was easy to drift off again himself. 

Sometime later he woke to find Dorian speaking to someone. He grabbed his pillow and buried his head under it. It was rare he felt so warm and heavy, completely unwilling to wake up. Too much sleep. The door shut and he heard Dorian cross the room. The bed shifted and the mage let out a chuckle. 

“Amatus you can’t afford to skip a meal. Time to get up.” 

“Mmphm.” 

Dorian tugged on the pillow. Mahanon let it go reluctantly, rolling over to find the mage smiling down at him. He drank in the sight  of those grey eyes, the happy look on Dorian’s face. Creators he’s beautiful. 

“Good morning emma vhenan.” 

Dorian ran a hand over Mahanon’s chest, hand coming to rest over his heart. “Maker preserve me against calf-eyed elves.” 

Mahanon trailed his fingers over Dorian’s wrist. “I do not make calf-eyes. That’s you.” 

“You are trying to distract me.” 

“You did insist I stay in bed this morning.” 

Dorian laughed and bent, kissing Mahanon slowly. His mustache tickled. When he twitched the mage laughed again, a belly-laugh that went straight through Mahanon. He sat up as Dorian drew back, getting to his feet before Mahanon could stop him. Trust Dorian not to care if he neglected all of his duties as long as he ate. He got up and stretched as the mage went to tend the fire and then his hair. Mahanon grabbed the coffee, ignoring the plate of food as he sat down to his paperwork. 

“Amatus if you skip breakfast again I shall be forced to tie you to the bed and feed you myself.” 

Mahanon sighed and grabbed the lone piece of fruit on the plate. He wasn’t that lean. He started writing as Dorian hummed to himself, getting dressed before crossing the room again. He grabbed the pear from Mahanon’s hand, replacing it with a roll before grabbing one for himself. 

“You do remember the winter Feastday is tomorrow correct?” 

Mahanon grunted, already absorbed in the reports before him. He bit into the roll absently and Dorian snorted. 

“Now I know you forbade anyone giving you presents…” 

“Which I meant.” 

The man sighed. “Just thought I’d give it another go. I’m off to the library.” 

He kissed Mahanon’s cheek. Mahanon paused in his writing, watching Dorian go. He was now absolutely certain Dorian was going to give him a present. He set the quill aside as soon as the door closed. He had no idea what to get Dorian, and now, with a snowed-in castle and a day until the event, he didn’t know what to do. Mahanon took one look at his reports, which required his immediate attention, and got to his feet. Cursing humans and their incessant need to give gifts at every turn he shrugged into his coat and went to the door. Josephine had to have some ideas at least. 

~~

_He stepped into the forge. Dagna lifted her head, all cheerful smiles and dimples. He had to admit, he didn’t understand her constant sunny disposition, and he adored her all the more for it. But he had come for the smith._

_“Harritt! My good man I would like to commission you.”_

_He got a grunt in response, before the smith went back to ignoring him. Dorian sighed, deciding not to dither around. This was too important. He pulled out several royals from his purse and set them down._

_“Twice that after if you can do the job.”_

_Harritt glanced at the money. “What do you want Vint?”_

_Dorian pulled out a sketch. Harritt snorted._

_“I don’t make fancy baubles for nobles.”_

_“Very well. I’ll just sent a note to my man in Tevinter. No one works metal as well as Tevinter smithies anyways.”_

_He grabbed his coin and turned on his heel. He heard Harriit curse and took just one more step away before the smith called out._

_“No Vint can match what comes out of this forge and you know it. Give it here. Money after the job is done, not before.”_

_Dorian grinned, that trick worked far too well on Fereldens.“Why Harritt I could just shake your hand. If you washed it first.”_

_“Just have the royals ready when I’m done.”_

Dorian stepped into the forge, finding Dagna and Harritt engaged in some discussion on the varying types of hammers that went over his head and defied any sane being’s interest. They ignored him. Without breaking the conversation the smith reached into his pocket, pulled out a small package, and then tossed it to Dorian. He caught it, unfolding the bit of paper. He smiled. It was exactly what he had ordered. He left double the amount of what he had promised Harritt and tucked Mahanon’s gift into his pocket. As he exited the forge, he saw the elf had emerged from his rooms, leaving Josephine’s office with a scowl. Mahanon caught his eyes and Droian waggled his eyebrows before heading in the direction of the library. 

~~

Mahanon tried to find a gift, avoiding the library and Dorian entirely. He managed to distract the mage that night, well enough so the subject of gifts never came up. The only mishap was the morning, when Sera had somehow managed to steal the entire fortresses’ pants, disappearing.  Worse still was the fact everybody had ignored his decree. He spent the morning wrangling breeches and dodging well-wishers. Everywhere he went in the castle, someone handed him a small trinket or something sweet to eat. Things he could not, in good conscience anyways, turn down. He was touched. By the time noon rolled around, Mahanon was simultaneously feeling guilty and well-loved. He hoped the feast that night would be enough to show everyone that he appreciated them. Josephine’s arrangement of sending everyone flowers and bonuses wouldn’t hurt either. 

By the time noon rolled around Mahanon was entirely distraught. He still had no idea what to get Dorian, Cullen had summoned him to the snowed-over courtyard. Grumbling to himself, he was rather surprised when a snowball hit him in the back of the head. He turned to look for his attacker, only to get hit in the face with another one. This time he heard giggling and grinned, ducking behind the wall. Sera and Blackwall appeared with a handful of kids, everyone bundle up against the snow. 

“Inquisitor do you surrender?!” 

“Never!” 

There was crunching from behind him. “Get him!” 

Cullen and Leliana’s voices. He’d been thoroughly ambushed, by his own people no less. They flushed him out, snow raining on his coat and head. The battle was on, and he was outmatched. At least, until Josephine and Dorian braved the pack to come to his rescue. They ducked into the small alcove he’d been backed into, Dorian wiping snow off his mustache. 

“Have I told you how utterly preposterous I find you southern folk?” 

Josephine rolled up a snowball and placed it in his hand. “Be quiet and throw my Lord Pavus.” 

“That ain’t fair innit? He’s got reinforcements!”

“But we have the Iron Bull.” 

Mahanon groaned and Cole popped up at his elbow. “They’re trying to hit you. I don’t understand.” 

“Quite frankly Cole, neither do I.” Dorian popped up only to be hit in the face, Bull’s raucous laughter bouncing off the walls. 

Mahanon started laughing too, unable to help it. Josephine and Cole joined in. Dorian glared at the three of them, looking for all the world like a disgruntled cat. Mahanon tangled his hand in Dorian’s furs and pulled him in for a kiss to make up for it. 

~~

At last, the drinking and the eating stopped long enough for Dorian to drag Mahanon away. Both of them were a little, or more than a little, drunk. Mahanon was leaning on him heavily, tangling their hands together. Dorian resisted the urge to lift him up and carry him the rest of the way to the best. Dense as Mahanon was, he was certain he could do it. A thought for another day. When at last they were upstairs Mahanon started kissing him, thoroughly distracting him from his mission. Dorian forced him off rather reluctantly, steering him towards the couch. 

“One moment amatus. I want to give you something.” 

He knelt in front of Mahanon, hand on one thigh as he reached into his pocket. The elf frowned as he pulled out the tiny package. 

“I told you not to get me anything.” 

Dorian winked. “Oh this isn’t for Feastday. I just thought it’d be a lark.” 

“But Dorian I-”

He squeezed the lean muscle under his hand. “Hush and let me do this.” 

He unwrapped the package with a flourish, taking Mahanon’s hand as he slid the ring on. It was a simple gold band, the word amatus inscribed on the inside. Mahanon blinked, face giving no indication as to his thoughts. Dorian was quite nervous. He wore Mahanon’s ring, but he didn’t know, even after all they had been through, if the elf would wear his. 

“You can be honest and say you hate it or that I am a sentimental f-”

Warm lips crashed into his own. It was heated and reassuring, Mahanon’s hands reaching up to cup his face as he pulled back. He looked…ashamed. 

“I didn’t get you anything. I tried but I couldn’t find anything good enough and then-”

Dorian laughed. The elf had given him everything and here he was fretting about a ring. 

“I believe this is one of those times I am supposed to say something nauseatingly sweet to you.” Mahanon opened his mouth to argue so Dorian placed the palm of his hand over his mouth. “You love me. No gift you could ever give me will be greater than that.” 

Mahanon nodded, eyes ridiculously puppy-like. Dorian removed his hand and Mahanon held up his finger to examine the ring again. 

“Does this mean we’re married?” 

Dorian felt his heart try to crawl its way, literally, out of his chest. “What?” 

“We exchanged rings and vows of love.” 

“We are not married amatus.” 

Mahanon cocked his head. “Dorian. We’re a little married.” 

They were but it wasn’t the point. He was about to say so when Mahanon’s face cracked into a gleaming smile. 

“I’m teasing you.” 

“I’m taking that back now.” 

Mahanon chuckled and pulled Dorian back to him, both of them falling back onto the couch. Dorian remained stiff to show his anger, even as he found the elf’s legs wrapped around him. Mahanon just kissed him. Dorian sighed. 

“Barbarians. The lot of you.” 

“And yet you love me anyways.” 

Dorian snorted. “Now that is hardly the point.” 

Mahanon nipped his chin and Dorian gave in. They were definitely discussing this marriage business later, but for the moment he was all Mahanon’s. 


	5. I Had a Thought Dear, However Scary

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> So trigger warning for alcohol abuse. Didn't quite mean for this to get this angsty. Set post-Adamant.

Mahanon was trying to focus. For some reason it was suddenly all-important to Dorian he read up on binding rituals, dispelling wards, and demons. The mage had foisted the book on him that morning, forcing him to take a spot at Dorian’s feet while he read a novel. Every time his eyes strayed Dorian would nudge him with his knee to get him on track. Finally, he gave up. His hands were itching for his daggers. He needed to practice, or hunt, or do any of the million things he needed to do before they left Skyhold again. Anything besides sit here and study magic he would never be able to use. He slammed the book shut and got to his feet. Dorian looked up slowly, frowning when he did. 

“Where do you think you’re going?” 

“Back to work. I can’t sit here anymore.” 

Dorian shook his head. “You’ve barely made any progress.” 

“Dorian when am I going to use this? You know all of this already. In fact, I bet you have this damned thing memorized along with every book in here you’ve read.” 

The mage shut his own book with a snap, eyes glinting with anger. “I know you are Ser Backwoods Hunter but this is important. Ignorance doesn’t become anyone, especially you.” 

“Good thing I have you to follow me around to point out how uneducated I am.” Mahanon was trying to keep his voice level but Dorian loved making that as difficult as possible. 

“I suppose so since you refuse to better yourself.” 

Mahanon dropped the book on the floor, mostly to irritate Dorian. It worked, the mage got to his feet and picked it up, face lined with anger. How they went from peaceful reading to getting ready to throttle each other in a heartbeat was beyond him. 

“Not all of us had the opportunity to live our lives in an ivory tower! I actually had to earn my keep.” 

Dorian waved the book an inch away from his nose. “I didn’t give you this for _my_ health Mahanon. I am trying to fill your head with something besides hot air and the ability kill a man in ten different and equally gruesome ways!” 

“Inquisitor.” 

Mahanon had quite forgotten where they were. Leliana was at his elbow, calm as ever. He growled and turned on his heel. 

“We’re done here. Evidently I’m too slow to keep up with him anyways.”  

He heard Dorian go off in Tevene, the angry words following him down the stairs. 

~~

He’d really done it this time. Driven Mahanon off for good. He was certain of it. The elf would leave again in the morning, for weeks, and he hadn’t asked Dorian to go with him. Now he was drinking alone in the tavern. Again. Bull found his way over, sitting down with a belch. Dorian wrinkled his nose at the giant. The last thing he wanted was company. 

“This is the third night in a row you’ve been in here. Absent the boss. Trouble in paradise?” 

Dorian glared at him. “If I wanted to discuss my personal business with you, I would have.” 

“Have it your way Dorian. It’s not as if everybody doesn’t know you two were shouting each other down in the library.” 

He groaned. He had just gotten drunk enough to forget about that. He hardly let the elf kiss him in front of other people but evidently calling him an ignorant backwoods hunter in front of half of the castle was acceptable behavior. Bull chuckled. 

“Did you really say that? You are fucked.” 

Dorian pressed his head further into the table. Maybe he could sink through it and the floor and escape Bull. 

“Am I saying my thoughts out loud again?” 

“You sure are.” Bull shoved another tankard at him. “Have some more. This is entertaining.”  

“I am _so_  pleased my misery is amusing you. Don’t you have a kitchen wench to seduce somewhere?”

The qunari laughed again. “Later. Besides you carry less risk of asking me to role play as ‘the conquering qunari.’”

Dorian tilted his head. “That seems right up your alley actually.” 

“It is. Just not fifteen times in a row.” 

He must have made a face because Bull raised his tankard again, tapping it to Dorian’s. “You’re not drinking enough.” 

“Very well. To not drinking enough.” 

He drained whatever he had been drinking. He was starting to have trouble remembering. A voice met his ears slowly. It took him a moment to realize he knew it, and it was angry. 

“Bull. Can you give us a minute?” 

“Of course boss.” 

Dorian turned to find Mahanon, scowling at him. He rose, having to use the chair for balance. 

“I’m going to bed.” 

“By yourself? Can you even remember where it is?” 

He couldn’t, actually. He took a hesitant step forward, stumbling. Mahanon caught him, wrapping one of his arms around his shoulders. _Wiry bugger._ The elf sighed and Dorian wondered if he’d said that out loud too. Turned out, standing had been a bad idea. Mahanon had to stop twice so he could lean against a wall and decide if he was going to empty his stomach or not. 

“By the Creators Dorian what have you been drinking?” 

Dorian chuckled. Mahanon let out another exasperated noise. He thought that was funny too. Then he frowned, remembering the elf was supposed to hate him. 

“You’re supposed to hate me.” 

“Just be quiet and let me get you to bed.” Mahanon tugged him forward again. 

Dorian nodded happily. “Bed. Bed is good.” 

He didn’t remember much past that. Just warm lips pressed to his brow, someone making him drink water, and then nothing. At least, until he woke up and immediately needed to vomit. He briefly registered he was in his own quarters, Mahanon was curled up next to him, and his body was on fire. He ran to the privy, barely making it in time. 

“Dorian? Shit.” 

A cool hand was at his back, rubbing slow circles into it. Finally, he was able to lean back, sitting heavily on his rear. Mahanon knelt in front of him, cup of water already in hand. 

“Think you can keep this down?” 

Dorian shook his head. “Do _not_ force that vile substance on me.” 

“It’s just…No. Never mind. You think you can make it back to the bed?” 

“No.” Mahanon snorted and Dorian glared at him. “Just leave me here. You have to go soon.” 

The elf set the water aside. “I’m not going anywhere until we talk.” 

“So talk.” 

Mahanon sat down on the floor across from him, their legs tangling. “You can’t do this. You can’t pickle yourself because you think I’m cross with you.” 

Dorian was admittedly slow, but it took him a moment to process that. “Aren’t you cross with me?” 

“Right now I am. You’ve been drunk for three days.” 

“I would have thought…I belittled you.” 

Mahanon rubbed the back of his neck. “Aye but I’m sort of used to you verbally assaulting me first and expressing your true feelings second.” 

“You paint such a pretty picture of me.” 

The elf smiled tightly. “I am far more concerned with your tendency to break down after we fight.” 

Dorian leaned his head back against the wall, closing his eyes. “I thought I’d driven you off for good.” 

“You stole fifteen bottles of wine.” 

Mahanon’s voice was quiet. Shame wasn’t helping his head or stomach. Though he hadn’t actually drunk the fifteen bottle of wine. _Just most of it._ Mahanon gripped his knee. 

“Look at me.” 

Dorian really didn’t want to. He didn’t have a high opinion of himself at the moment. He didn’t want to see how disappointed the elf must be with him. But he did open his eyes. Mahanon was looking at him with a mixture of warmth and exasperation. He didn’t move his hand. 

“You are far too brilliant and talented to be doing this. Even if things ends between us, I can’t watch you drink yourself to death. I won’t.” 

Dorian bowed his head, losing his ability to look directly at Mahanon. “Amatus…” 

“Just…tell me I don’t have to order Josephine to get rid of all of the alcohol in Skyhold. Cullen might cry if he has to put down a riot.” 

“You would do that?” Mahanon raised an eyebrow and Dorian shrugged. “Very well. This won’t happen again. I shall endeavor to be better.” 

Mahanon squeezed his knee. “Not better. Just less soused.” 

Dorian groaned. “Weren’t you leaving?” 

“I’m the Inquisitor. They can wait for me. Besides, you need to get packed.” 

“Packed?” 

Mahanon got to his feet, holding out his hand. “You’re going with us. Can’t very well leave you for a month by yourself after last night.” 

“I hate you.” Dorian took his hand, stomach clenching painfully. “You want me to sit a horse with a hangover?” 

“Well if you’d rather stay here by yourself for the better part of a month…” 

Dorian glared at him as Mahanon helped him crossed the room. “You know that’s not what I want.” 

The elf just laughed before pushing into the bed and tucking him in. “Sleep while you can. I’ll get your things together.” 

“I despise your existence.” 

“Tough love Dorian. Get some rest.” 

The word love didn’t help his stomach. He was exhausted though, and drifted off to the tune of Mahanon messing up all of his things. Probably.  

~~

It was a long couple of days as they made their way into Orlais. Mahanon wanted the area stabilized before he attempted to have Josephine contact Empress Celene again. As little as he wanted to go to a ball or be within a league of what he considered to be an Orlesian snake pit. Dorian recovered from his hangover with minimal grousing. Mostly because their first break Cassandra threatened to club him over the head and only rouse him when they made camp. He was a lot more chipper the second day. Mahanon was still a bit sore at him but he felt better having the mage close by. He took the first watch when they made camp, eyes on the plains. Dorian approached, holding the blasted book that had started all of this. He sat, placing his staff across his knees and handing the book to Mahanon. 

“I wanted to try this again.” 

“Are you certain? This book may be cursed.” 

Dorian snorted. “I know you said the things I shouted at you didn’t stick but I feel I owe you an apology. You aren’t ignorant. Admittedly you’re too clever for your own good at times.” 

Mahanon smiled. “Alright so I’m clever and you’re an ass. Please don’t make me read this book.” 

“I need you to. I need you to know these things. If you’re not going to read then let me teach you.” 

He was serious, eyes pleading. Mahanon tilted his head. 

“Why Dorian?” 

The mage sighed. “You were right. I know quite a bit about dispelling and preventing harmful magic. But you don’t. You rely on me for it, or Solas and Vivienne. But one of these days…you might lead somewhere I can’t follow. You don’t have to be a mage to defend yourself against magic.” 

Mahanon did his best not to gape at him. “You couldn’t have just said that the first time?” 

“You know me. I aim for the dramatic…I’m sorry amatus. Truly.” 

He took the book, placing it in his lap before glancing sideways at Dorian. “I’ll read it. And when I get bored you can fill me in on the blanks.” 

“Thank you.” 

Mahanon opened the book, reading the first sentence. Then he closed it and set it aside, sidling up to to Dorian. 

“I’m bored.” 

The mage wrapped an arm around him, words coming with no heat.“Festis bei umo canavrum.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Would just like to point out alcohol abuse is not generally solved in one nigh with a pep talk. Alcoholism is something you need professional help for. But I wanted to at least address the fact if Dorian doesn't have a drinking problem the game hints he's developing one.


	6. I Never Should Have Let Them Dance

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hopefully a nice enough twist on the "the elf does not want to learn your shem dances" trope(not that I'm ragging on anyone who has done that there's just a lot of them in the Cullen tag). Also told from Cassandra's POV for experiment reasons.

Cassandra struck at the training dummy, focused. It was turning into a good session. She had worked up a sweat, body warm in the morning chill. She didn’t notice Josephine until the woman was almost upon her, face drawn as she nearly walked into Cassandra. She realized her mistake just in time, stumbling a bit before catching herself. 

“Pardon me Lady Cassandra.” 

Cassandra nodded, turning back to the dummy. Josephine paused though, looking hesitant. 

“Is there something the matter Ambassador?” 

Josephine sighed, hand going to her hip as she pinched the bridge of her nose. “Only that the Inquisitor has disappeared. Evidently, he does not want to learn how to dance for the ball.” 

She snorted. She didn’t entirely blame the elf. She had no desire to attend the ball either, and dancing only seemed a distraction. But Cassandra liked to think she wasn’t unkind, and Josephine looked so distraught over the idea of the Inquisitor embarrassing himself and all of them in front of the Orlesian court. She growled, hitting the dummy one last time, and set the training sword aside. 

“I shall look for him Josephine. We will meet you in your office.” 

“Oh Cassandra thank you.” 

She dismissed the ambassador with a wave of her hand and went to find the wayward elf. It was unfortunate she did not know the keep as well as he did, preferring the training yard or her room above the forge. She searched all of the usual places, even the top of Cullen’s tower. Nothing, until exasperated she wandered past a servant who pointed her towards a second library she hadn’t know existed. Cassandra got lost twice but found it, door ajar and two deep voices speaking emphatically to one another. 

“Wait so if you touch it the wrong way it will-”

“Yes amatus. So whatever you do don’t twist the…there you go.” 

Cassandra, very hesitantly, pushed the door inward. It squeaked open to reveal Mahanon and Dorian. Dorian was sitting in a chair, book spread across his lap. Mahanon had his staff in hand, apparently experimenting with the weapon. The elf smiled when he saw her, setting the staff aside. 

“Cassandra! To what do I-Ow!” 

He struggled uselessly as she grabbed him by the ear. “I have been looking up and down this blasted castle for you. If you advisors say learning how to dance will save Empress Celene then you are going to learn how to dance.” 

“Dorian could you please give me a hand here?” 

The mage just chuckled and bent his head back to his book. “Apologies Inquisitor but I do believe if a lady asks you to dance, you must never say no.” 

With that Cassandra dragged him to Josephine, who looked both exasperated and relieved. Mahanon glared daggers at her, rubbing his ear. Cassandra smiled a bit to herself as she shut the door, leaving Josephine and Vivienne to teach the elf how to dance. 

~~

Cassandra had always done her best to avoid idle gossip. It wasted time, and distracted from more important things. But evidently there was some truth to the rumors about the Inquisitor and Dorian. It disconcerted Cassandra. For all he reminded her of an overgrown pup at times, Mahanon had proven to be a good judge of character and a decent man. He strove for justice, despite his irreverence for the Maker and the Chantry. She resolved to keep an eye on the two of them, for Mahanon’s sake. He was coming to mean more to her than simply being their leader. She considered him a friend, and she would protect him, even if that meant from himself. 

Which was why, on the way to Halamshiral, when she noted them both sneaking off into the dark she followed. It felt wrong, an invasion of Mahanon’s privacy. It also put her at great risk of hearing and seeing things she had no urge to hear or see. But she had to be certain. She didn’t expect to hear a muffled curse and Dorian sighing. 

“Really Mahanon how can you be so light on your feet in battle and yet have the grace of a drunken druffalo practicing the simplest of steps?” 

“ _This_ is simple?” 

Cassandra crept to the edge of the clearing, to find Dorian chuckling as he kissed an grumbling Mahanon on the cheek. The elf snorted but allowed Dorian to take his hands. The mage cupped the elf’s chin fondly, Mahanon’s eyes glinting in the dark. 

“Just relax. Let me lead.” 

The tension went out of the elf’s shoulders and he nodded, letting Dorian lead him through the steps. They moved well together, Dorian humming some waltz as Mahanon learned to let him lead. Cassandra saw the look on the altus’ face. The contentment there. _The love._ She retreated back to the camp, somewhat reassured. She couldn’t trust Dorian entirely, it wasn’t in her nature. But she _did_ trust Mahanon. The next day she saw Dorian smiling and decided to comment. 

“You’re smiling a great deal these days Dorian.” 

The mage exchanged a glance with Mahanon, who had turned in his saddle. “I always smile. People like my smile, as they should. I have excellent teeth.” 

The elf laughed before turning back. Cassandra rolled her eyes. 

“Do you always do it while staring dreamily off into the distance?” 

“Depends on how long until dinner.” 

Mahanon snorted and spurred his hart forward. Dorian’s eyes followed him, not even aware he was doing so. Cassandra spurred her own horse on, amused. It may prove to be the worst kind of distraction, but she hoped they found some measure of happiness together. 

~~

Mahanon certainly had a knack for doing the unexpected, both managing to save the day without bloodshed and ensuring the court would be talking about the mad Dalish elf with respect rather than scorn. He had learned how to play the Game well before obliterating the board. Cassandra was proud of him. There was no other word for it. He had come a long way, ensuring her faith in him hadn’t been unwarranted. 

But he wasn’t quite done trying to shock the nobles yet. Cassandra went to congratulate him, Cullen, Leliana, and Josephine in tow. Only there were hushed whispers on the way of the Inquisitor dancing with _that_ man. They found them on the balcony, either unaware or not caring that the entire court was watching them dance. Mahanon and Dorian only had eyes for each other. Cullen cleared his throat, jerking his head. 

“Let’s leave them to it, shall we? I think he earned a moment.” 

Mahanon happened to glance over, eyes meeting hers, looking thoroughly exhausted but happy. Cassandra smiled for a brief moment before turning, glaring at the courtiers until they started to disperse. Leliana and Josephine giggled behind her but it was effective. Cullen was right, Mahanon had more than earned the right to pass his time with whomever he wished. Whether anyone else approved or not should not his burden to bear as well. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Title from the song "Learn to Do It(Reprise)" from Anastasia because I ran out of Hozier songs to steal titles from. (Not really)


	7. An Excerpt and A Preview

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Okay so we're doing something a little different today. My buddy TheFaye92 (who is also my best friend in real life, go figure) has beta'd every single word of this series, which is just about 50,000 words all together across all three stories. So I thought I would thank her by including an excerpt from her story Two-Hundred Roses which you can find in the Blackwall/Trevaylen tag. So the first section is that. Now, since this is a Dorian/Inquisitor story, I am also including a preview from an AU I am hesitant about but really want to write. Enjoy and thank you guys so much for continuing to read this. Feedback welcome.

Excerpt from Two-Hundred Roses

Maker he could almost feel her against him. He pressed his hands to his eyes. How could he have left her like that? And that made him think of her. Of his sweet little bird.

Young and lithe, with an hourglass figure he could fit his hands around. Sometimes when he kissed her, he could feel the magic humming within her. She kept her hair short to her shoulders because one time as an apprentice she had set it on fire. But it had still been long enough for him to take in his hands and thread through his fingers, to gently pull back for better access to her neck. He had lain her down in the hay loft, on the furs where he made his bed.

He couldn’t remember the last time he had been with a woman, but he knew that Genevieve Trevelyan was like none before. She had been soft and sweet and eager to learn. Blackwall knew when they had finished and she had laid her head on his chest and fallen into gentle sleep that he lovedher.

That was why he had to leave. He had to break her heart so that he could be the man she thought he was.

It was past midnight when he was certain she had fallen deep into the Fade. He’d dressed quickly and looked over at her naked form. Beyond beautiful, he’d thought. He couldn’t leave her like that and he took one of the furs and threw it over her. He meant to leave right then, truly he did, but he knelt to kiss her one last time. She stirred.

Her pale blue eyes were dark with sleep and she gave a soft yawn before whispering; “morning, love,”

“It’s not morning, little bird,” he whispered back. “Go back to sleep, my lady.”

“Then why are you up?” She pulled the fur up to cover her breasts, but her feet were left uncovered and Blackwall got his chance.

“It’s cold, I’m going to get you another blanket,” he smoothed her hair and smiled.

She yawned. “Oh, okay.” She rolled over trying to get comfortable. “Hurry back, I don’t think I ever want to sleep alone ever again,”

Blackwall ran his fingers through her hair again and kissed her temple. “I’ll be right back,” the lie stung worse than all the others. He sat there a moment, waiting for her to fall back asleep. He did not move until her breathing was perfectly rhythmic.

Then he had hurried down stairs and saddled his horse and scribbled a quick note. Maybe she would understand, he’d thought. He had told her he was no good for her, maybe now she would believe him.

Thinking of his note drew him away from his memory and the warm feeling that had washed over him as he thought of her naked against him was flushed away by icy cold. He’d used her and left her. And there it was, undeniable proof that he was no good.

Blackwall got up from the fire to rub his horse down and then wrapped himself in the saddle blanket and made himself eat a bit of hardtack. He tried to keep his mind from her, but he couldn’t help but wonder what she was doing now.

Upon waking she would have run to Cassandra—no. Sera was her best friend, Sera would let her cry in her lap and then offer some joke or—no. She would do neither. Genevieve is the Inquisitor, she had learned better now. She would grieve, but not until she went to see her Spymaster.

She would cry for a little while and then return to her duties. She would go to her garden as she did every day and check on her plants, then she would get to work on some potions, and visit the ill and injured in the infirmary, go to prayer at noon bells, and then Inquisition business until supper. During supper Varric would probably regale her with stories of Hawke and their adventures and then start a game of wicked grace to keep her distracted. And then she would go to bed in her big tower room and maybe cry herself to sleep.

His eyes burned when he thought of her crying over her broken heart. Knowing that he had done it to her. She probably thought she had done something wrong, because she was the kind of girl who thought like that.

“I’m so sorry,” he muttered into the cold. “I’m so sorry, little bird.” Blackwall leaned against the cave wall and drifted into a short and fitful sleep.

***

Preview of Dissonant Verses

It was hours later and several cups of wine Dorian and Livia quit the dance floor. Or he quit, she found men she actually wanted to dance with. It was now socially acceptable if he went to grab some food and accidentally chat with Felix. His mother had long-since retired, his father disappeared to Maker knew where. Felix saw him approach, winked, and grabbed a bottle of wine. Dorian smiled to himself and caught Livia’s eye. She inclined her head and he bowed before following Felix out into the gardens. It was much cooler out there, and Felix was shaking his head. 

“Did you see Magister Noland? I thought he was going to slit his wrists and declare war on my father right there on the dance floor.” 

“Mother would have been so put out. She had the slaves working all day on polishing that floor.” 

Felix laughed, drinking straight from the bottle. “Oh how it gleamed. Accentuated just how badly you didn’t want to be there.” 

Dorian grabbed the bottle from him. “I take offense to that. I was, and am, the very essence of propriety my friend. My utter disdain for this charade was well-hidden.” 

“Speaking of charades, I couldn’t help but notice that Relenus hasn’t left yet.” 

“Felix…” 

The other man frowned. “He might be good for you.” 

“You know how very unlikely that is. Besides, who says I would be any good for him? Just leave it be.” 

Felix sighed and Dorian passed him the bottle before finding a bench and sitting down on it. After a moment he heard the soft footfalls of velvet slippers over stone, turning to see Livia had followed them after all. She grabbed the bottle from Felix and drank deeply without saying a word. Felix watched with a tilted head, amused. 

“My lady?” 

Livia sighed, giving the bottle to Dorian. “I am glad tonight is finally over.” 

“Oh my wounded pride.” 

She turned a raised eyebrow on him. “Relenus was asking for you. Before my feet got trampled by his brother.” 

“Venedhis does everyone know about that?” 

“Dorian bite your tongue there is a lady present.” 

“Vishante kaffas Felix.” Livia gave Dorian a consoling pat on the shoulder. “Just everybody.” 

“Fantastic.” 

Felix shook his head. “You two deserve each other.” 

They both glared at him and he raised his hands. “Apologies. Livia I don’t believe we’ve danced together yet.” 

Her frown gave way to a smile. Felix had the innate ability to charm members of either sex simply by being himself. Once again Dorian found himself reflecting how much better the man was than the rest of them, as he pulled his betrothed into a silent waltz. He was lost in thought as they flirted shamelessly with one another, pulling at the wine bottle. He didn’t want to admit it was Relenus he was thinking of. 

Dorian didn’t notice his father had joined them until Felix’s hurried “Magister Halward” reached his ears. He looked up, fairly buzzed, and slightly amused by his father’s clear disdain for their little gathering. 

“Felix I am so glad you could make it. Livia my dear I believe it is time for the young Master Alexius to escort you home, don’t you?” 

“Yes Magister Halward.” 

She kissed his cheeks and Felix bowed, holding his arm to her. Dorian watched them go, drinking from the bottle again before glancing at his father. 

“Isn’t it my duty to escort her home Father? After all it would be the  _proper_  thing.” 

His father took the bottle from him and set it down on the bench. “I have a wedding present for you. Come with me.” 

For once, his father didn’t seem angry with him. He followed, curious. Particularly when they went up to his bedroom. His father opened the door and there stood an elf. His hands were manacled in front of him, dressed in some ridiculous sheer costume that didn’t match the tattooed face or crooked nose. What caught Dorian’s attention was the  _hate_  in those eyes. No one had ever looked at him with such open hostility before. 

“Father what is this?” 

“Your wedding present.” His father scowled at the slave. “You are too bold slave.” 

The man cast his eye downward. Dorian shook his head. 

“I don’t understand.” 

“Yes you do. He is yours. I understand you have…urges. You are to exercise them on him. That way poor Livia will have a true husband and you can be satisfied.” 

Dorian took a step back from his father, suddenly nauseous and feeling quite sober. His father turned on his heel as if that the end of the discussion. Dorian followed him out of the room angrily, slamming the door. 

“This flies in the face of  _everything_  you have ever taught me. I won’t force myself on a slave!” 

Magister Halward showed his true colors again, rounding on Dorian. Lightning sparked off his fingertips and he found himself backing away. 

“This is my final word on the matter. You will do as I ask or be cut off entirely. I will not have a son like you. Make this work.” 

His father strode off and Dorian watched him go, mouth agape. He was quite certain his father had finally snapped. He looked back to the door of his room, not wanting to go in. He sighed. He could at least explain to the man he had no intention of touching him. He never got the chance. When he opened the door cold metal wrapped around his neck. 

“Ma hamlam you fucking shem.” 

He clutched at the chain in panic, struggling against his would-be killer. The man was strong. His mind grew clouded. He tried lashing out with magic, but it was becoming harder and harder to think. He managed a shocking spell but the elf was mad with rage, only pulling the chain down harder. Dark spots flickered over his vision, and he thought this might, in fact, be it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is my New Year's post while I work on my next couple of chapters so forgive the laziness. A few notes, yes Cursed From the Start(a working title) is a slave AU but I am not trying to rip off Snartz's First Time For Everything. I do want to thank them for the premise idea though. Anyways it is going to be dark, and a very different story from my own stuff and First Time For Everything(which you should take a gander at if you haven't), but I really want to write it after I wrap up Fire On the Mountain. Also I do have my own concerns with Blackwall's actions and character but hey, not my story and I support my friend's writing abilities first. Happy New Year to all! Business as usual next chapter.


	8. Stubborn Love

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dorian and Mahanon are fighting, again.

Mahanon moved along the rocks, Dorian, Solas, and Blackwall moving quietly behind him. He only wanted to see what was on the top of the hill, now that they had taken care of the undead in the area. Not to mention rescued the Orlesian army. Dorian heartily disapproved, that was clear, but he hadn’t said a word to Mahanon since that day in the market. They had gone straight from Val Royeaux to the Exalted Plains, and it had only been a week. Still, Mahanon was feeling it. It was what was distracting him now, and what probably caused him not to notice the loose stone under his foot. He slipped. 

“Inquisitor!”

His foot scraped over stone, stomach lurching into his throat as rock gave way to nothing. There was a moment he thought he might regain his balance but then he fell, barely catching the edge of the rock. Then he was dangling in the air. He looked down and closed his eyes, breathing deeply. His fingers were sweating, already shaking with the thought of falling. Then a strong, smooth hand wrapped around his wrist, pulling him bodily into the air. Dorian’s other hand went to the back of his armor and he tugged Mahanon smoothly back onto the rocks. Their eyes met and Mahanon saw the fear there, and the anger. But the mage simply set him down and turned away to pick up his staff, examining the remains of the crystal casing that had shattered when he dropped it. Blackwall looked Mahanon over, before clapping his shoulder. Solas just shook his head, amused. 

“That was close lethallin.” 

“It certainly was.” 

Blackwall snorted. “It won’t be Corypheus that kills you, it’ll be your abysmal luck.” 

“Well that and those cookies Sera keeps baking.” 

“Those as well.” 

Dorian didn’t face them, shoulders set. “Shall we carry on? Or are we to stand around discussing _baking_ until Corypheus shows up to finish us off?” 

Solas looked between Dorian and Mahanon, touching two fingers to Mahanon’s arm in understanding before following the other mage. 

“Ah! Solas. You startled me. You're always so…nondescript.” 

Mahanon heard them carry on as they headed down the rocks. “Please speak up. I can’t hear you over the sound of your outfit.” 

Blackwall seemed hesitant. “Inquisitor if you wish to discuss…” 

“Nope. Let’s go.” 

He seemed relieved, clearing his throat before moving past Mahanon. They made their way back to the Dalish, who were letting them stay the night before they left the plains. The region was as stable as it was bound to get for the moment, and while it had been hard work trying to please the Orlesians and the clan over their multiple trips to the area, Mahanon was glad he had. Lornail would be coming with him of his own volition. Mahanon had even secured extra wine and food for a party. This clan certainly wasn’t his, but they were familiar enough where it both hurt and helped his homesickness. He sat at the edge that night, drinking on his own. Watching the dancing and the singing, clapping along when it called for it. He should have been happier than he was.

Should have been. Mahanon sighed and felt a tap on his shoulder. Solas, his eyes catching the firelight. He gestured with his head and Mahanon followed him into the night. The elf led him away from the camp, over to where the waterfall was competing with the songs of celebration. 

“Da’len you are sulking.” 

Mahanon snorted, feeling bitter. “I am the Inquisitor. I am allowed to sulk should I wish.” 

Solas chuckled lightly, and waved his hand. Dorian was sitting by the river, fixing his staff. Alone. Mahanon frowned, turning to the other elf. 

“I thought…you don’t approve.” 

“I do not. But I also saw his face today when you fell, while you did not. When his guard is down, it is easy to see how he feels about you.” Solas tilted his head thoughtfully. “I was wrong about you. Even though you are Dalish. Perhaps I was wrong about him as well.” 

“You were. You are.” 

Solas inclined his head. “As I said, perhaps. But if that is the case why are you still standing here with me and not working it out with him?” 

Mahanon frowned and then stalked off. He heard Solas laugh behind him, quick and bright. _I am so happy I can amuse you hahren_. He purposely made noise as he walked so that when he reached Dorian, the mage glanced at him before turning back to his staff. 

“Inquisitor.” 

Mahanon sighed. “Still?” 

“Still.” 

“So what that’s it? You’re going to give me one-word answers for the rest of our lives?” 

Dorian got to his feet. “You want a longer answer? Fine. You’re a bloody fucking idiot. What were you thinking today? Traipsing about on a cliff like you’re some kind of ram. Or yesterday jumping into the middle of a horde of undead? Or how about the day before when…Why are you smiling?” 

Mahanon couldn’t help it. “You're talking to me again.” 

“Festis bei umo canavrum. Stop it. Stop looking happy.” 

“You can keep ranting if you wish, I do so long to hear your growing list of reasons as to why I’m an idiot.” 

Dorian opened his mouth, closed it, and then worked his jaw for a moment. Then he grabbed Mahanon roughly and kissed him. Mahanon was a little dazed by the time he pulled away, the back of his neck and tips of his ears burning. 

“You scare the shit out of me.” 

“I know.” 

Dorian sighed. “I apologize.” 

“Good. Will you come back with me now? They’re letting Blackwall try a nice Dalish vintage.” 

“What, pray tell, does a Dalish vintage entail?” 

Mahanon winked. “Don’t ask questions you don’t want to know the answers to. Let’s just say he’ll be seeing pink halla in about half an hour.” 

“This, I have to see.” 

Mahanon grabbed his hand as they headed back to the camp. Just before they reached it Dorian squeezed his hand and let go, though not before kissing Mahanon’s temple. 


	9. Ma Serranas

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Two chapters today because writing Dissonant Verses made me sad. Though I kind of got lazy on this one and just took it from Wrong Side of Heaven.

Dorian really didn’t intend to eavesdrop. It just happened that way. He only wanted to have a moment with Mahanon, perhaps throttle him for drinking from the Well of Sorrows. But he found himself pausing at Cassandra’s voice. 

“It is not my place to ask, but why did you drink from the Well?” 

Mahanon snorted. “The voices in my head were getting lonely. I thought they needed new friends.” 

Dorian rolled his eyes. The elf was spending far too much time with him. 

“Mahanon.” 

He sighed. “Take whatever reason you want Cass. I don’t trust women with panther eyes, I was afraid the price would be her son, I’m an elf and while I may not be the most devout man in Thedas it is my heritage, it’s my duty to take these risks and no one else’s. My hand hurts.” 

“Your…hand?” 

“It’s…been getting worse. Since Adamant actually. Solas isn’t really sure why except that, shockingly, it probably has to do with Corypheus.”  

Cassandra was quiet. “I didn’t know.” 

“Neither did I.” 

The words slipped out angrily. Dorian strode into the firelight. Mahanon rubbed the back of his head, sheepish. 

“Cassandra…” 

“I’m going. Try not to wake everyone up.” 

Dorian waited until she was gone before dropping to his knees and grabbing Mahanon’s marked hand. Mahanon tried to hide a wince. Not from the hand, but from his head. 

“Have I ever told you you are a frustrating, stubborn, horrible specimen of a man and I hate you?” 

“Once or twice.” 

Dorian was still angry. But he didn’t miss the circles under Mahanon’s eyes, the way the vallaslin  stretched just a hint too tightly over his brow, the cheekbones that were too sharp. When they did happen to sleep at the same time the elf was plagued with bad dreams. He sighed, pressing his index fingers to Mahanon’s temples. The incantation was quick, and the elf relaxed visibly, slumping forward a little with relief. Dorian pressed his forehead to Mahanon’s, exasperated. 

“Ma serranas emma vhenan. They’re quieter when you’re around.” 

Dorian shook his head. “Just once I wish you would be a selfish bastard. Take a cue or two from me.” 

“I’m trying but I still can’t convince you to stay.” 

He flinched internally, sitting back. Mahanon sighed. 

“Abelas. That was cruel of me.” 

Dorian had a quick debate with himself. He could make a quip, start another argument and go to sleep angry with himself and this blight-touched elf with a hero complex. Or…He reached out and took Mahanon’s hand again, tracing the edges of the mark. 

“Why didn’t you say anything?” 

“You already worry enough. Because of me.” 

Dorian looked up, seeing the guilt plain as day on his face. “Saw through me again did you?” 

“If the silk small clothes fit…”  Mahanon bowed his head. “For what it’s worth I’m not intentionally trying to break us.” 

“Hush amatus you haven’t broken anything. We’ll triumph over Corypheus, get roaring drunk, and then figure it out from there.” 

Mahanon chuckled, something close to his usual laugh. Dorian counted it as a win. Mahanon patted the grass next to him. 

“You never did finish telling me all the reasons I’m never allowed to take you to the Fallow Mire again.” 

Dorian smiled and sat next to him, wrapping an arm around his shoulders. “How about I tell you about the time my mother caught me sneaking toads into her larder instead?” 

“Oh thank the Creators…I mean yes. Do go on love.” 

“Well there I was, a dashing and charming young rapscallion of nine.” 

Mahanon leaned against his chest, solid and warm. “Of course.” 

“And what do you know…But honestly Mahanon the Fallow Mire is just so dreary.” 

He got a sharp elbow in his chest for that one and held Mahanon that much tighter. He wasn’t sure how much longer he’d have the opportunity.


	10. You're Doing it Wrong

Mahanon ate absently, not really tasting his food. His mouth was unreasonably dry, his stomach in knots. The porridge was not helping.

“You’re doing it wrong.”

Mahanon looked up to see Dorian joining him on his log. The mage took his bowl from him and poured honey and milk into it. He took the spoon too and stirred while Mahanon raised his eyebrows. He finished with a flourish and handed it back, looking pleased with himself.

“Go on, take a bite.”

Mahanon did. It tasted like paste as it had before. He didn’t know how to tell Dorian he simply wasn’t hungry. So he faked it.

“Mmmm.”

The mage saw through it, sighing. “Savages, the lot of you. Do you not have tastebuds in the South or is it a Dalish thing?”

“You know if you want to know about my people you could just ask instead of teasing me. Though I would do it sooner rather than later.” Mahanon set the bowl aside.

“Ah yes, your big moment is today.”

“So it would seem.”

Dorian took the bowl from him, catching Mahanon’s eyes.

“Well I’m still hungry. Do you know what I had to do to get the honey? That chantry brother was quite put out.”

Mahanon snorted, drawing his knees to his chin. He tilted his head to watch Dorian eat, wondering how he managed to never get anything in his mustache. A question came to mind, and Mahanon knew he should ask now if he was ever going to know.

“Do you consider yourself Andrastian?”

Dorian glanced at him. “Ah, yes the big question. It might surprise you that I do consider myself Andrastian. I simply do not believe in the Chantry. It is a relic, whether back home or in the South. Something from a bygone age desperately clinging to relevance. It’s not an opinion that makes me popular.”

Mahanon snorted. “I share your opinion, actually.”

“That doesn’t surprise me, considering what the Inquisition represents…” He looked at the bowl, seeming hesitant all of a sudden. “I’ll say this. I may not believe in the Chantry, but I believe in you.”

He was…surprised. “In me?”

Dorian set the bowl aside, looking Mahanon in the eye. It sent an unexpected warmth through his chest, having Dorian look at him straight.

“That the Maker sent you, whether through Andraste or Fate. Cassandra is not wrong. You are what we needed most, at the moment we needed it. That’s what they will say in the ages to come.”

Mahanon certainly didn’t agree. He had never been sure of the Creators or the Maker. They didn’t seem to care about the world, why should he care about them?

“I don’t know…”

Dorian seemed to like that. “Doubt is good. Doubt will keep you sane.”

Mahanon smiled at that. Dorian believing in him so strongly…it helped. Cullen walked up to them then, barely looking at Dorian.

“Lavellan the mages are ready to assault the Breach.”

Mahanon rose, and then turned to Dorian.

“Coming?”

Dorian sighed dramatically. “If you simply cannot get along without me.”

He rose and fell into step behind Mahanon and Cullen. It felt…good to have him there. To have a friend at his back.


	11. I Slithered Here From Eden

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dorian is in love.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don't know this song is stuck in my head and certain elements of Dorian's romance card.

_Babe, there's something tragic about you_  
 _Something so magic about you_  
 _Don't you agree?_  
  
 _Babe, there's something lonesome about you_  
 _Something so wholesome about you_  
 _Get closer to me_  
  
 _No tired sighs, no rolling eyes, no irony_  
 _No 'who cares', no vacant stares, no time for me_  
  
 _Honey, you're familiar like my mirror years ago_  
 _Idealism sits in prison, chivalry fell on it's sword_  
 _Innocence died screaming, honey, ask me I should know_  
 _I slithered here from Eden just to sit outside your door_  
  
 _Babe, there's something wretched about this_  
 _Something so precious about this_  
 _Where to begin_ \- Hozier, From Eden

 

Dorian watched the enchantress for a moment, curious about her. Nothing good could come from a woman with eyes like that. Mahanon was leaning on the railing, and Dorian allowed his eyes to trace the lines of his back. Slim yet strong. The uniform was just a touch overlarge, the red becoming against his copper-colored skin. Yet the finery didn't quite match the elf's inherent jaggedness, the green of his tattoos and his crooked nosed utterly at odds with the formal attire. Dorian loved the walking contradiction the man represented, how he was so at-odds with the court yet had them completely wrapped around his finger. The reason wasn't lost on him. Mahanon would never belong here, amongst marble floor and gold furnishings, surrounded by people who would no more use the wrong dinner fork than they would step between demons and the innocent. The elf simply didn't care. The Orlesians had ignored the stability he had brought their lands, from stopping the Grey Wardens to helping save the army. They had belittled him, called him rabbit and knife-ear, and yet he had saved their empress and kept their lands from falling into further chaos. He knew exactly who and what he was, and he used it as armor instead of letting them make it a weakness Dorian's heart squeezed painfully as he leaned on the railing. 

"There was an ancient Dowager looking for you. Said she had twelve daughters. I told her that you'd left already. You can thank me later. Or now." He only got a half-smile in response, not helping the constricted feeling in his chest. "But you look lost in thought. Something on your mind?" 

Mahanon's back seemed to be bowing at long last under the weight he had shouldered. "I'm just worn out. Tonight has been...very long." 

Dorian laughed lightly. Trust the Inquisitor not to realize the extent of the good he had done. 

"You won! You saved the day. Literally, the day is saved. You should be celebrating. Enjoy yourself while you can." 

The elf exhaled softly, lips twitching. He fidgeted with his too-big gloves. Dorian found he couldn't stand that look. Not on this man, not after everything. It made him ache. 

"What you need is a distraction. I have just the thing, let's dance." 

He bowed with a flourish. Mahanon's smile made it worth it. 

"I was hoping you'd ask." 

"Thank goodness one of us has a little initiative." 

Mahanon laughed then, and the ache in his chest didn't get any relief. If anything, it got worse. Here Mahanon was, completely comfortable with dancing together in full view of the court. Here was the man who didn't give two shits about being seen canoodling with a Tevinter mage in front of everyone. And Dorian was too afraid to kiss him in public. He shied away from those thoughts as Mahanon relaxed. He caught the advisors herding nobles away from the balcony, even the determined set of Cassandra's jaw and the way a duchess almost ran from the heated look in her eyes. When he looked down at the Inquisitor the elf's eyes were on him, soft and unguarded. It was that look. The one that scared and delighted him whenever he saw it. The one that made him cup Mahanon's chin and kiss him. If he kissed the elf enough, maybe he would never have to say the words. Or hear them.

~~

“Quick words hide a gentle heart.” 

Dorian blinked. He’d been watching Mahanon spar with Cassandra and Cullen, his teeth flashing white against his copper skin. His dark hair had the most interesting strands of gold flecked through it in the sun, and his eyes were dancing with mirth. It took him a moment to realize Cole was speaking to him. 

“Apologies Cole. What was that?” 

“You both do it. Hide behind your words. You say one thing and mean another. You tell him you hate him and you don’t. Why is that?” 

Dorian sighed. “Why ask me? Why not him?” 

“Because he thinks the words, even if he doesn’t say them. You hide away. Even though you feel them, you won’t think them. You are afraid. He knows that.” 

“Festis bei umo canavrum.” 

Thankfully, Mahanon chose that moment to take a break. “Cole why don’t you join us? You’re the only around who is faster than me.” 

“I would like that.” 

“Good. Go get started with Cassandra.” 

Cole hopped to it. Dorian opened his mouth but was interrupted by Mahanon cupping his face and kissing him. Dorian heard Bull’s wolf whistle and someone clapping, and kissed Mahanon back, hiding his embarrassment in the elf. The man truly didn’t care everyone could see them. Breath coming a little fast Mahanon broke the kiss before smiling against Dorian’s lips. Dorian returned it, pleased. 

“What was that for amatus?” 

“Because I could ma sa’lath.” He pressed his sweaty brow against Dorian’s. “And because you looked troubled. Better?” 

Dorian nodded. He honestly didn’t have a reply to that. Cole was right. He was a terrible coward. His heart swelled, with the love he felt, yet here he was, choking on the words. Mahanon only smiled though, stepping back. 

“It's alright emma vhenan. Everything is going to be alright.”  

He walked away slowly, holding Dorian’s gaze. Dorian realized he believed him. It had been true since the beginning. He could, and did trust Mahanon. He didn’t have to be afraid. 

~~

That night Mahanon was curled into his chest, safe and sound and fast asleep. Dorian toyed with the words, rolling them around on his tongue and in his head. Mahanon's steady breathing stymied him, and he whispered the words into the night. 

"I love you amatus." 

The elf doesn't stir. Dorian sighed in relief. They could still all die tomorrow. He was almost certain they would. But he would die knowing he had loved, and been loved in return. He smiled and settled, pulling Mahanon closer to his chest. 

 

 


	12. Just Sit Still(DV)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mahanon gets a haircut.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So this was a scene that was going into Dissonant Verses but didn't quite make it. But if you haven't read that and are planning to then spoiler warning for the story.(Or stop reading this now and go read that instead.) 
> 
> If you're not going to read it(it is pretty bleak), basically what you need to know for this, Mahanon was whipped shortly before being stabbed, and now he and Dorian are on a ship out of Tevinter. I'm just going to add any one-shots for Dissonant Verses here but I'll mark them DV in the titles for people who don't want to read them.

Mahanon scratched at his hair again, frowning. Dorian marked his place in his book. 

“Just let me cut it for you.” 

Mahanon’s turned his head, sheepish, fingers still at his scalp. “Would you?”

Dorian pushed at him and the elf climbed out of the bed. He was unsteady after being bedridden for the last two weeks, and stumbled into Dorian, who caught him. The elf was getting a little shaggy looking. He was warm in Dorian’s arms, and for a moment he considered forcing the elf back to sleep. But Mahanon’s hair, which he usually kept shorter than even Dorian’s style, was clearly starting to drive him crazy. If it helped keep the elf in bed to heal and away from any sharp objects, Dorian supposed he didn’t mind all that much. 

Mahanon went to the full-length mirror, tilting his head at his reflection. “I can’t remember the last time I actually looked at myself.” 

“What a shame, I rather enjoy the view.” 

The elf snorted, turning. His stomach was almost healed, pink scar-tissue forming over his taught stomach. Dorian’s heart squeezed painfully as the elf turned to examine his back. He realized Mahanon hadn’t ever seen how badly he’d been damaged. He mixed the shaving cream while Mahanon stared at his back. Dorian hurried over, meaning to distract the elf. Mahanon didn’t say anything, or give a single clue as to his emotions as Dorian grabbed a stool, making him sit. 

He forced himself not to stare at the lash wounds as he lathered up Mahanon’s scalp. They did bother him, but more for the bad memories they inspired. It was some time before Mahanon spoke. 

“I never thought of myself as vain before, but…”  

Dorian placed a hand on the elf’s shoulder. He’d never thought of himself a comforting man before, but it came easily with Mahanon. Perhaps because Dorian needed the elf in a way he had never needed anyone else. Mahanon flinched slightly at his touch and Dorian pulled his hand away. 

“I can fetch you a shirt after I’m done, if you’re not comfortable. You should be able to bear one now.” 

The elf nodded, eyes downcast. Dorian sighed, pulling out the razor and making his first swipe. 

“Do you know what I see?” 

Mahanon flicked his eyes up, looking at him in the mirror. Dorian continued shaving, careful of the slight bumps and hollows that marked Mahanon’s skull. 

“I see a man who wouldn’t break. No matter what was done to him. A man I am very proud to know.” 

He finished a stroke with a flick of his wrist, cleaning the blade before continuing. Mahanon was still watching him, a similar look in his eye as when he had first told Dorian his name. Dorian cleared his throat. 

“Now hold still so I can do something with this.” He waved his hand at Mahanon’s hair. 

The elf snorted. “It’s the same style as yours!” 

Dorian wagged his finger and Mahanon rolled his eyes. “No amatus, my hair is a style carefully cultivated to highlight my best features. Yours is what happens when you get irritated and shear it off with a rusty dagger.” 

“I don’t let my daggers get rusty.” The elf wrinkled his nose in distaste. 

Well that much was true. “My deepest apologies.” 

Mahanon yawned rather than reply. Dorian flicked his ear. 

“None of that now. You’ve been griping about getting out of bed for days. You are to enjoy this.” 

The elf’s green eyes focused on the razor pointedly. “Whatever you say.” 

“Knew there was something clever about you.” 

Mahanon’s shook his head as Dorian cleaned the blade again. “I am _not_ an invalid.” 

Dorian rolled his eyes. “Did I say you were? No.” 

“You’ve been treating me like one. What more do you need for me to prove I’m fine?” 

“That would require you somehow make me forget you were _stabbed_ not a fortnight ago.” 

Mahanon stroked his chin, eyes glancing out of the small window in their quarters. The ocean carried on quite happily outside, sky achingly blue above the endless water. Then he grinned like a feral animal. 

“I’m going to climb the mast.” 

Dorian paused. “…of the ship?” 

Mahanon got to his feet, rocking a bit again. “Yes.” 

“Festis bei umo canavrum. No. You’re not.” 

Dorian forced him back onto the stool, flicking his ear again. The elf waved him off but let Dorian finish his hair, eyes glancing longingly at the door. With a wave of his hand the shaving cream and stray hairs vanished. Mahanon ran a hand over his hair, stifling another yawn. Then he smiled at Dorian.

“Thank you ma vhenan.” 

Dorian folded his arms, looking at the elf critically. “I did do a rather fine job, didn’t I?” 

Mahanon got to his feet. Then made a move for the door. Dorian grabbed him, mindful of both his back and stomach, and tossed him as gently as he could into the bed. Mahanon gave a half-hearted protest, made even weaker by the yawn that accompanied it. He was asleep before Dorian finished cleaning up. Dorian allowed himself a smile, watching the elf sleep for a moment. Whatever his scars, he was achingly beautiful. And, for the moment, he was safe. 


	13. Ma'arlath

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> First time Mahanon says "I love you."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *coughs awkwardly* I didn't steal this from my own story because I'm lazy. I swear. I did it for valid reasons.

It just had to be a giant. Because the jungle wasn’t bad enough with its infestation of Red Templars, Freemen, and the blasted great bears everywhere. Dorian’s heart caught in his chest as he watched Mahanon barely move out of the way of the massive boulder. But he focused, using his waning energy to cast and maintain a barrier over the elf. Neglecting his own. Vivienne was at his side, her energy devoted to protected herself and Cassandra. He could see her strength flagging as well, though she didn’t break a sweat. Merely cast less often, face more pinched than usual. The woman was certainly a testament to…something. 

The battle was shifting in their favor though, Mahanon and Cassandra working in perfect sync together. The giant grabbed another boulder, ignoring the many gashes up and down its legs as it raised trembling arms. Then it threw the boulder, not at Mahanon and Cassandra but at him and Vivienne. They had time to exchange a glance before Dorian nodded and Vivienne waved her hand. He shifted his barrier to her while Vivienne shattered the boulder with a blast of energy. The ricochet caught him in the head, making him see stars before he went out. 

He woke to the ground quaking. Vivienne was casting beside him. Or over him as it were. How he’d come to be on the ground he wasn’t sure. He sat up enough to see the giant fall at last, Mahanon’s blades slicing through its jugular. The elf didn’t waste a second checking to see if it was dead before turning and closing the distance between them. He fell to his knees next to Dorian, touching his temple. It was only when Dorian saw the blood on his fingers that he realized he was still bleeding. 

“Fenedhis. Dread Wolf take you why wasn’t your barrier up?” 

Vivienne clucked her tongue. “Such a display my dear, one would think our Lord Pavus was in danger of passing from this world at any moment.” 

“Really Mahanon. I am perfectly alright.” 

Vivienne waved her hand and Dorian felt the cut heal. Mahanon’s glare was rather withering, though he aimed it at Dorian rather than Vivienne who sauntered off to check over Cassandra. The elf cupped his face again, making him turn his head. 

“Why wasn’t your barrier up Dorian?” 

Dorian sighed. “Because as incredible as my magical prowess is amatus, I am but a man. I only have the energy for so much. And really I am quite alright.” 

"You have a head injury. That is not alright.” The elf growled. 

“You are rather prone to the dramatic at times.” 

Mahanon exhaled heavily. “Why is it you are allowed to yell at me every time I get I get a paper cut but when I have the audacity to worry about you you write it off as me being dramatic?” 

“First of all, that last time wasn’t a paper cut. You were almost speared by a high dragon.” Dorian held up two fingers, making the elf roll his eyes. “Second, it is rather simple. Your life matters more.” 

The elf looked stricken. “What?” 

Before Dorian could answer properly, Cassandra and Vivienne returned. Dorian got to his feet on his own, Mahanon’s face turning back to a scowl. 

“Inquisitor we should press on if we are to make decent progress before nightfall.” 

Mahanon didn’t answer, cleaning his daggers before leading the way on. Dorian knew he would never agree with how he saw matters. He wouldn’t be Mahanon if he didn’t think every stray vagabond’s life was worth saving. But it was the truth. At least that was what he maintained until they lay awake in their tent that night, Mahanon tracing idle patterns over his heart. Then the elf stopped suddenly, hand freezing as he looked Dorian in the eye. 

“Ma’arlath.” 

Dorian felt his heart lurch, though he wasn’t quite sure why. The intensity in the elf’s eyes, or the warmth in his voice. He shook his head slightly. 

“I don’t know what that means amatus.” 

“I think you do emma vhenan.” 

He did have some idea. He couldn’t say it out loud though. Mahanon shouldn’t have either. The elf went on, voice firm.  

“You are everything that matters to me. Don’t take that so lightly.” 

Dorian nodded, overwhelmed. He pressed Mahanon closer and the elf understood, kissing him slowly. 


	14. Hold Me Fast

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mahanon likes to hunt, Dorian does not.

The elf was fascinating. His eyes were even the same color as the rifts, wild and near-feral looking. He moved like a wolf, walking without making a sound, coming and going as he pleased without being seen. He actually seemed to enjoy the woods and camping, though he spoke little to any of them, so Dorian was never quite certain. Then there was that nasty habit of disappearing for hours at a time. Slipping past the guards at night, both in Haven and in camp. Dorian had not a clue as to where he went. It was amusing how Cassandra would rage though. Apparently, it happened a lot. 

One such evening, Cassandra and Blackwall were arguing about it, Blackwall trying to convince her the Herald was a grown man and capable of taking care of himself. It was giving Dorian a headache. He’d read the same sentence five times, unable to focus with the woman yelling. He just so happened to agree with Blackwall, but he was rather fond of his good looks and didn’t relish saying as much to Cassandra’s face. Not at the moment anyways. Finally, the voices died and he looked up, almost starting visibly when he saw Mahanon. The elf was carrying a dead ram over his shoulder, dripping blood all over the floor of the tent. 

His face was lined with pain and Dorian sat up, tilting his head. “If this is some kind of Dalish mating ritual…” 

The elf snorted. “We use nug calls for that actually.” 

“Not hallas? Really?” 

“Too majestic. Nugs set the mood better.” 

The elf winced, clutching his arm. Dorian closed his book and rose. 

“Let me see that. Cassandra will have my head as well if she finds you injured.” 

“It’s fine. Really.” 

Dorian shook his head. “Ah yes. I forget how leaving pools of blood everywhere is considered a sign of health down here.” 

“What’s that called in Tevinter?” 

“Silly elf. That’s breakfast of course.” 

Mahanon’s mouth twitched again and he set the ram down, going to Dorian’s cot. He peeled back his damaged sleeve. Whatever had been at him had ripped through the leather. 

“If it will make you feel better…” 

Dorian rolled his eyes as he knelt before the elf and took his arm in hand. “Ah yes, stopping you from bleeding to death is for my benefit. Now correct me if I’m wrong, but the ram didn’t do this.” 

“Ah. Not exactly, no.” 

He almost seemed embarrassed. Dorian probed the wound as gently as he could, even still the Herald winced. 

“Can I ask why you’re killing rams like a savage in the middle of the night? Or is that too personal a question as well?” 

Mahanon pinned him with those impossible eyes, the lantern making the shadows of his face even darker. He hasn’t been sleeping. The elf never stood still long enough to give any indication to his health, but Dorian could see it now. The man was exhausted. Little wonder, now that he stopped to think about it. The moment dragged on, Dorian suddenly very aware of how close Mahanon was to him, and how warm the skin under his hands felt. He raised an eyebrow in question and the elf seemed to come to a decision. 

“I’ve been hunting for the villagers. We haven’t been able to track down what’s making the wolves go crazy, and the bandits keep us too busy during the day. So I thought…” 

“You’d take care of it at night. How…noble. And here I thought you were avoiding us humans.” 

Mahanon grinned, suddenly wolfish. “Not all of you are so bad. Gotta do something about those ears though.” 

Dorian chuckled and cast his spell quickly. This was getting dangerously close to something beyond flirting. It was…intimate. Too intimate for his tastes. 

“There. I think you’ll live if you stop taking on wolf packs alone.” 

“Ma serannas lethallin.” The elf flexed his arm and rose. “Oh, and if Cassandra asks…” 

Dorian snorted. “I shall tell her you’re dancing naked in the moonlight like a proper elf.” 

Mahanon smiled again, not looking quite as tired. He bent and picked up the goat, leaving as silently as he had come. The next night, Dorian was eating with Cassandra and Blackwall, the conversation turning towards taking out the mages now that the rogue templars had been dealt with. He found he was looking for the elf, not consciously realizing he was doing so until their eyes met, the elf pausing at the edge of the camp. One foot in the firelight, one in the dark. He pressed a solitary finger to his lips and slipped off into the night with a smile. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yeah I did the thing again. I'm sorry. Carpal tunnel and whatnot. Also when I first wrote this I was listening to Hopeless Wanderer by Mumford and Sons so that's where the title came from.


	15. My Beloved Monster and Me

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mahanon has some facial hair envy.

Dorian absolutely did not want to get out of bed. Not with Mahanon snug against him, lithe body a small furnace. He enjoyed the novelty of being the first one awake, able to watch Mahanon as he slept. For once, the elf was completely at ease, looking his age. Dorian couldn’t resist the urge to reach up and run his fingers through Mahanon’s hair. He scratched lightly over the elf’s scalp, smiling when Mahanon pressed closer to him in sleep. Dorian kept it up until Mahanon made a low groan in his throat, opening his eyes. The morning light cast him in gold, his eyes catching the light. It never ceased to amaze Dorian that the elf had chosen him. Or what a sap he’d become in the ensuing months. 

“You may have overindulged last night amatus.” 

Mahanon yawned, closing his eyes again. “In you or the wine?” 

Mahanon’s hands reached up to trace the series of bites he’d left up and down Dorian’s chest. He did so with his eyes still closed. Dorian let his own hand wander up and down Mahanon neck and back, enjoying the feel of him. Mahanon shivered, opening one eye. He looked so much like a wolf when he did that. Ready to eat Dorian at any moment. 

“Don’t you have that meeting with what’s-his-name today?” 

“Fasta vaas you’re right.” 

Dorian jumped out of bed. He’d forgotten entirely about that. He was trying to secure more rare volumes for Skyhold. It was a personal project. A surprise for the Lavellan clan. He was trying to trace their lineage back to the Arlathan if he could. He hadn’t told Mahanon yet. Dorian slipped his leggings on and went to the mirror, grabbing his shaving cream in a rush. 

“Can I do that?” 

Dorian paused, brush on his throat. “Do what?” 

“Shave your face. I’ve never gotten to shave.” 

“You’re not missing much.” 

Mahanon got out of bed, slipping into his riding leathers. Dorian was distracted by his back and rear for a moment, before shaking his head. 

“This is an odd request.” 

“Come on, I’m good with sharp edges.” 

Dorian snorted. “You cut yourself yesterday.” 

“Well. Yes. Just a little.” 

Mahanon smiled at him. Dorian sighed, slowly relenting. 

“You had to throw away your shirt because of all the blood.” 

“That was a dagger. This is a straight razor.” 

Dorian relented, finishing applying the shaving cream. “If you touch my mustache…” 

Mahanon glanced away as he approached, biting his lip. Dorian raised an eyebrow. 

“What?” 

“What if you _didn’t_ have a mustache for a bit?” 

Dorian gaped at him. “You said you _liked_ my mustache.” 

“It tickles.” 

Mahanon grabbed the razor from Dorian’s hand, biting his lip. Then he grinned and Dorian knew he’d been joking. 

“I do loathe you. Particularly in the mornings.” 

The elf laughed holding the razor up. “I know. Hold still.” 

Mahanon took it slow, brow furrowed in concentration. His calloused hand was gentle on Dorian’s collar bone, all of his concentration on not cutting Dorian. And Dorian knew he was probably better off letting Mahanon do this then doing it himself. He’d never known anything but safety at those hands. It was odd, because Mahanon was odd. Loving him had never been anything but an exercise in surrealism. But it was strangely comforting, letting Mahanon do this for him. Mahanon finished his last stroke, lowering the razor, and Dorian wrapped his arm around him. He kissed him, making a mess out of Mahanon’s face. Mahanon smiled when Dorian held up him away, eyes half-lidded. Damn the meeting. He wanted to stay. Mahanon stepped away though, grin downright sinful. 

“To be continued.” 

Dorian groaned, bereft. He finished dressing in a rush. The sooner he left, the sooner he could come back. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> IT'S SO FLUFFY! Sorry. I'm over-caffeinated as usual so this happened. If you want to check up on me or my beta TheFaye92 you may now do so at thedissonantsisters.tumblr.com


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